First Snow
by LunaticFringe'sAngel-LA15
Summary: Greg and Mycroft couldn't be any more happy together, and Greg takes a moment to reflect on their last year together as they take a stroll on Christmas Eve. Originally posted 12/9/17 on AO3.


First Snow

A/N: Set in no particular season. It was my first Sherlock fic that was just Mystrade, inspired by my looking out the window that day to see that IT'S SNOWING! Also, a late happy holidays to everyone! Enjoy!

Greg let out a relieved sigh when it was finally time for him to head home. The Yard had been particularly busy this week (Thank goodness for Sherlock and John), and he was just happy to finally be done with the latest case. Sally had already left, and Greg had just grabbed his coat when he felt a rush of brisk air come from the front doors. In walked Mycroft, who was wrapped up in a thick, dark winter coat, leather gloves containing his trembling fingers. It hadn't been that cold earlier, had it? Greg happily dropped a kiss on the man's cheek, attempting to pull away afterwards, only to have Mycroft pull him in for a soft, lingering kiss. It still amazed the detective inspector how much Mycroft had changed since they'd become a couple.

"Ready?" he asked Greg when they broke apart.

"Yes, thank goodness." After throwing on his coat and gloves, and sliding his wallet in his pocket, he offered Mycroft his hand, pleased when it was taken without its usual hesitation. Instead of pulling Greg into the backseat of one of his black town cars and taking them home, Mycroft wanted to enjoy his company on a walk, despite the freezing weather. They strolled down the street, unconcerned about passerby, hand in hand, taking in the white noise of London at night. Despite the holidays being right on their doorstep, there was no shortage of criminals running amok, murders and disappearances to be solved, or the occasional petty theft or attempted robbery. They spoke of the day's events. Greg had been swamped with several calls today: a murder, a domestic disturbance, a break in at Baker Street, and a "missing" person, who turned out to be behind all three in the end. Mycroft briefly described meeting with several government leaders of southern Europe. It apparently ended when France and Italy began a dispute that had almost the entire room in an uproar. Mycroft finished the tale with the remark, "You never know when an umbrella can come in handy in a fight," leaving the comment open to interpretation.

Greg chuckled at the remark, inquiring, "What's so special about that umbrella of yours?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Let us just say that I was, and still am, an excellent fencer, and leave it at that." There was a comfortable silence between them for a time as Greg's thoughts wandered.

It had been almost one year since Greg and Mycroft had gotten together, boh saving each other's lives on more than one occasion during one of the most intense cases either of them had ever seen. Thank you's led to lunch, which then led to dinner the next week, which just so happened to be Christmas. With Greg having recently divorced his then wife and Mycroft being, well, Mycroft, neither had anyone to return home to for the holidays, parents aside. They had cooked dinner together, had lively conversation as they sat down to eat, had ended the night with Greg kissing Mycroft, and Mycroft him kissing back. Neither seemed confused or terrified of the prospect of something more between them. Sure, they'd never really talked outside of cases, but they felt their chemistry with each other when they went out for lunch together for the first time.

It was hard to put into words just how well they'd clicked the first time they'd really sat down to get to know each other. Yes, Mycroft had been a bit awkward about it at first, not knowing how to respond to affection, unsure of how to return it, but Greg was a patient man, and had allowed Mycroft to take things at his own pace. He was grateful to have him in his life, and their first official Christmas together was bound to be spectacular.

"What are you thinking about?" Mycroft whispered, breaking Greg out of his thoughts. "You've been smiling non-stop for the last few minutes." Greg hummed low in his throat in response, sounding content. _Slightly elevated heart rate, relaxed body language, indicates something pleasant, enough so to eliminate this week's stress. Distracted, something important enough to hold his attention, non-work related. That dazzling smile, those beautiful eyes-_

"Just thinking about you, beautiful," he finally answered, meeting Mycroft's gaze and interrupting his now off track deductions. "I'm thinking about you and how happy you make me. I wouldn't ask for anyone else." Mycroft gazed lovingly at him as they continued to walk, neither aware of anyone or anything else for a time. It was only after an excited shout from Greg that Mycroft was pulled from the trance, staring quizzically at the silver haired man.

"What-?"

"It's snowing!" Looking around, he saw flakes moderately drifting down, covering their surroundings in a blanket of white, the first snow of the season. He looked back at Greg, and couldn't help but feel affection for the man. Despite the renewed chill in the air, Mycroft couldn't care less. Seeing that expression on Greg's face, that expression of pure, unbridled joy, was enough for him. Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket, showing a text from Anthea.

 _Merry Christmas, Mycroft. Give my greetings to the DI._

The time on his phone read 12:00. Pocketing it, he grinned, turning to Greg. "Gregory?"

"Hmm?" Greg turned to look at Mycroft, whose ginger hair held a crown of snowflakes, and whose eyes held nothing but warmth, whose lips were now brushing his, asking. Greg closed the small distance between them, and they became wrapped in each other's arms, lips moving slowly together, lost in the moment. When they had to break away to breathe, Mycroft spoke.

"Merry Christmas, love." Greg rested their foreheads together, stealing another soft, gentle kiss. Their eyes met once more, both seeming to convey _I love you_ without uttering a single word.

"Merry Christmas, Mycroft."

Closing A/N: Short, fluffy Christmas-ish fic. Not my usual, and not my best work, but an idea in my head nonetheless.


End file.
